The Cannons
by eugene-the-artichoke
Summary: He heard her whisper sadly, “He loved me, you know.” Feeling his heart clench, he wiped his face and replied, “I know. We all knew.”


Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Harry Potter, JKR does. Only after I wrote it did I realize that the idea abut the Cannons, is inspired by S.C. Hardy's "More Than The Cannons". I would like to make it clear, however, that I did not plagiarize in any way. The two stories are vastly different, and I hope you enjoy mine! A huge thank you goes to Emma-Lynn for helping me to track this fic down!

**A/N: **I was hit with the idea to write this directly after writing "When Courage Fails", but I never got around to it…until now. I really hope you like it. T'was a bit difficult to write at certain points, but it really has become one of my favourites.

**The Cannons**

By: eugene-the-artichoke

-----

When he had initially arrived at the hospital, the lean black-haired man had been unaware of all that was around him. St. Mungo's was a blur of white and red, desperate harried voices, and moans of pain. The man was covered in blood, and seemed to give off a powerful odour of burning flesh. He stayed conscious for precisely two minutes, where one thought ran through his head repeatedly. In the past two hours he had been questioning himself with the same "How did I not see Malfoy? He was right there, behind him." Once exhaustion had caught up with him and he could no longer stay awake, startling emerald eyes closed, and everything went black.

---

Harry Potter was sitting in his uncomfortable hospital bed staring at the uninteresting white wall. His normally bright green eyes were bloodshot, and there were trails of wetness down his face. He seemed to be looking at a small watermark, when in fact, all he could see was red hair and freckles. He was interrupted by a knock on his door. Thinking it was another reporter, Harry hollered a toneless, "No comment."

Satisfied that he had his peace again, he turned back to the wall and resumed staring. He was surprised, however, when there was more insistent knocking on his room door. Numbly, he adjusted his open hospital gown and slipped into grey waffle slippers. He wiped furiously at his face and went to answer the door.

Slowly opening the door to a narrow slit, Harry already had his mouth open to snap at a nosy journalist, when he was greeted by the unusually somber face of Augustus Pye.

Looking questioningly at the Healer, Harry asked politely, "How can I help you Healer Pye?" However, instead of immediately responding, the young man began to worry his hands. He ran a slightly shaky hand through his mousy brown hair and said, "She just woke up, Harry."

Snapping out of his unfeeling state, he felt a twinge of happiness that quickly faded away. She just reminded Harry of _him. _

Harry arranged his features, in what he hoped resembled a smile. "That's good news. Fantastic, actually. Would I be allowed to see her now?" he asked Healer Pye.

Harry was slightly unnerved to see that the Healer had resumed fidgeting. He seemed to be fighting with himself for a moment, before sighing and saying, "You can see her, but Harry… I have to tell you. I don't know how to put this. But well…she doesn't seem to remember much from that night."

Bewildered, Harry focused on the Healer. "What do you mean she doesn't remember? She was there the entire time, fighting for her life, like the rest of us. She saw me kill Voldemort!" Healer Pye flinched, when he saw that Harry's confusion had turned to anger.

Calming himself down, Harry was irritated to find that his fists were clenched. It would not do to throw a temper tantrum. He took a deep breath and tried again. " I mean, how can she not remember? Did something happen to her?"

Nervous now, Harry began to ramble, "Because we all got hit by some curses, but we patched each other up as best as we could. We're not Healers, but we had all learned healing spells from Madam Pomfrey. Professor McGonagall also gave us some potions to take as well. Ginny and Ro—" Here he choked and swallowed the lump in his throat.

_No, you can't think about that now. She needs you._

Again, he tried to regain his composure. Running a hand through his hair, he looked back at the Healer. "Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Why doesn't she remember?" Harry questioned the nervous Healer once more.

The Healer hesitated and said, "Well Harry, it seems that some of the emotional trauma of that night affected her. Seeing as her parents are no longer alive, we have only informed the Weasley family and you. It seems that, er-" The Healer paused here, "It seems that her mind has chosen to essentially forget a few select events of that night."

Harry felt his stomach churn. He did not need to know which events she had chosen to forget. He had been trying to do the same thing for the past forty-eight hours.

Seeing the look of despair that quickly came over Harry's face, the Healer amended, "Fortunately, there was no other damage. She is, other than that slight bit of memory loss, very healthy. There were no lasting physical scars, and she is speaking to our mental counselor currently."

Harry head was screaming, and he could feel the tension begin to settle between his eyes. In a hoarse, choked whisper, he said, "Has anyone, you know…told her yet?"

Healer Pye looked sadly at Harry, "The staff is unsure of what happened that night. Thus, we cannot give her an accurate account. The decision was made that being closest to her, you would be the one to tell her what occurred."

Harry felt sick. He was the one who had to break her heart. More importantly, the Healer's comment of him being the one closest to her touched a nerve.

_I am now. After what that bastard did._

Full of grief, Harry looked gravely back up at Augustus Pye. "Take me to her."

---

Harry didn't know what to expect when he walked in room 431. When he saw her, leaning against her pillows, he relaxed as she didn't seem to be in any distress. She sat on her bed, reading an unidentifiable book, absently twirling a lock of bushy hair in her hand. She looked so normal…like nothing had changed.

Gingerly, he stepped into the room. "Hermione?" he called out. She looked up, surprised, and with a soft "Oh," she shut her book.

Smiling, she looked at him and said, "You did it Harry. You saved us. He's finally gone. Voldemort's finally gone." Harry had to avert his eyes. Though she was giving his a look of admiration, he felt nothing like a hero. The throbbing in his temples intensified.

Working at not give anything away, he looked back up, and said, "How are you feeling?" She gave a casual shrug, and ran an ink-stained hand through her bushy curls. "As well as you can expect, I guess. How 'bout you?"

He mirrored her shrug, and took a seat on the bed. The tingling in his eyes had started again. "I've been recovering. Trying to absorb all that's happened". She gave him a soft smile and said, "We're all going to be fine, Harry. Give it time."

Harry smiled at her then, though inside he felt like someone had put the Cruciatus on him. Staring at the bed, he grabbed her small hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Even though he meant to give her comfort, he was drawing comfort from her. Harry could see Hermione look at him again, and she asked, "Have the Weasleys visited you yet?"

Harry looked up, alarmed. Had she noticed everyone's odd behaviour? Why was she asking? Did she figure it out? He searched his brain wildly for what he could o in this situation. He had no idea what to say.

Getting no answer from Harry, she continued in earnest, "It's just that I've been waiting to see Ron and you, of course. Do you know here he is? I was expecting him to come with you."

Seeing the questioning look on Hermione's face, Harry knew she had no idea. He would have to tell her now. Harry could feel his heart begin to break slowly.

_I'm so sorry, Hermione._

He took off his glasses, and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Righting his glasses once more, he got off the bed, and began to pace. "Hermione, I have something important to tell you."

Worried, he looked at over at Hermione, who had sat up and was looking puzzled. She nodded for him to go on. Harry ran a hand through his hair. He could feel himself getting choked up.

Struggling to keep his emotions in check, he looked at his best friend, and said as evenly as he could, "It appears that due to what happened the night I fought Voldemort, you—" Harry cut himself off, unable to continue.

Hermione looked at him, brown eyes wide. She gestured at him to continue, "I… what, Harry?"

He continued pacing, and began fidgeting. "You lost some memory of that night." He looked at her anxiously, even as his eyes began to burning for what seemed like the umpteenth time in two days.

_Grieve later. You need to tell her._

"My memory?" she said, looking unconcerned. "Of course I didn't lose my memory. I remember exactly what happened that night. Voldemort attacked Hogwarts, Ron and I fought the Death Eaters while you dueled with Voldemort. Then, you defeated Voldemort with the potion and protection spell." Hermione said this all very matter-of-factly, as if she was answering a question in class.

Harry could feel his chest begin to hurt and balled his hands into fists.

_This is going to kill her. She'll fall apart._

"Hermione…" Harry croaked. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "The Healers think that the emotional trauma of what happened made you lose all recollection of what happened after I defeated Voldemort."

Hermione looked at him like he was insane. "Harry, nothing happened after we defeated Voldemort. We came directly to the hospital. Where's Ron? Ask him, he'll tell you that's exactly what we did."

She began to squirm in bed and crane her neck to look into the busy hallway of St. Mungo's, looking for the familiar shock of red hair.

Harry felt a deep pang in his chest and shook his head miserably. "Hermione, that's exactly it. Something_ did_ happen after I killed him. Something terrible…" Harry turned away, and brushed at his eyes. He couldn't look at her.

She turned back to him, looking increasingly scared. "Harry?" It killed him to see his strong, intelligent friend unsure of herself.

Unable to drag it out any longer, Harry whirled around, and choking on his own voice, said, "I'm so bloody sorry to say this Hermione. But after I killed Voldemort, a Death Eater came up behind Ron, you and I."

Hermione sat on the bed ram-rod straight, staring at Harry. She had gone pale, and was barely moving. Anguished, Harry strained to continue, "It was Lucius Malfoy, Hermione. He disillusioned himself, and w-we didn't see him." Harry's vision began to blur.

"He had been disarmed by Neville, and stunned by Luna. But someone had revived him, and given him a d-dagger." At this point, Hermione began to tremble. Harry ran to her, and grasped her hand.

Harry continued, stuttering with the effort, "Malfoy m-managed to reach us in the forest. Ginny was running towards us, screaming hysterically but w-we didn't know what she was saying. You turned around to look at her, and we saw something glimmer. We figured out s-someone was disillusioned, and before I could move—" Harry broke off, tears beginning to stream down his face.

Hermione was no longer looking at him. He knew she was trying to be strong, and not jump to conclusions. She was clenching his hand in what looked like a painful grip. He didn't know though. He couldn't feel anything except his sorrow.

Harry swallowed painfully and tried again, "Before I could move, R-Ron had jumped in front of you." Hermione's head snapped up, and she looked at Harry with wide, fearful eyes. Harry continued, crying freely now, "That bastard Malfoy— he stabbed Ron!"

Hermione stared at Harry in horror, but she said nothing. Harry was completely shocked. He had expected her to be sobbing and hysterical. He hadn't stopped crying until being given a sedative potion.

Harry, thinking she had not understood because of shock, managed to gasp out "He's dead, Hermione. He's not coming back."

He looked at her again to see her reaction; instead, all she did was shift slightly in her bed to give him room. Still unnerved, Harry eased himself next to her. He slowly put his arms around her, and she leaned into his embrace.

After what seemed like days later, but had only been a few hours, he felt her stir. He had been sobbing quietly, holding on to her for reassurance. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, when he heard her whisper sadly, "He loved me, you know."

Feeling his heart clench again, he wiped his face and replied, "I know. We all knew."

He felt something wet on his chest, and saw her tears trickling down her face.She shifted, and said, "You know what he told me, Harry?"

Her eyes were shining with tears, and Harry gazed down at his bushy-haired best friend. "No what, Hermione?"

She blinked again, and Harry could feel the raw pain she was experiencing. He nudged her for her response. She turned to look at him and replied, "He said…Ron said that—" She cut herself off, wiping her eyes furiously.

Harry felt burning in his chest. It was the first time she said his name, since he had told her.

She sucked in a deep breath, and choked out, "He said that he loved me more than the Cannons, Harry! More than the bloody Cannons!"

And with that, she began to sob uncontrollably, clinging to Harry and squeezing the life out of him. He didn't care though. He was overwhelmed by his own grief, and his hoarse sobs soon joined hers.

---

Harry and Hermione went their separate ways after graduation, but they still kept in touch. When she finally returned to England, after a long thirteen months in Germany, they rebuilt their close friendship. They saw each other at least once a week, due to the weekly Sunday brunch at the Burrow. They would meet beforehand and have coffee, and then head out to the Weasleys in the afternoon.

It had been a long time before Harry had managed to convince her to go with him for Sunday brunch. She had been repeatedly invited of course, but always politely declined. She had become very quiet, and wasn't into socializing much.

Getting her to go to his and Ginny's wedding had been hard, as she felt she could not face all of Ron's family. Miraculously, Harry's shameless begging paid off and Hermione finally agreed. Accordingly, it was her wedding gift to him, to finally start accompanying him to the Burrow.

The first brunch had been hard for both Hermione and the Weasleys. She reminded them of what had been, and they reminded her of what could have been. Slowly, however, they grew comfortable again with each others' presence.

Unsurprisingly, the remaining Weasley brothers took it upon themselves to take care of her. Harry knew that they missed Ron deeply, but had moved on with their lives. Though it would never be official, Ron's brothers all knew that Hermione was Weasley.

Bill and Charlie stopped by the Ministry, both separately and together, to take her out for lunch at least twice a month. Fred and George were constantly dropping by her place, and when Harry wasn't with her, they were often spending time with her, keeping her spirits up. Percy and Hermione worked together, he always gave her pompous, yet fond reminders to take care of herself. Harry and Ginny, of course, spent the most time with Hermione, encouraging her to come out of her shell.

Though she would frequently act annoyed with their overprotective behaviour, they all knew that secretly she was immensely grateful for it. Hermione had told Harry on Ron's two-year death anniversary, that all of his brothers reminded her of the absolute best parts of his personality. Bill and Charlie brought to mind his strong and comforting side, whereas the twins reminded her of his always joking and humorous character. Percy made Hermione think of his amazing potential and his rarely seen genius. Lastly, Harry and Ginny's relationship was what Hermione knew hers and Ron's would have been like. However, she was never bitter, and was inordinately pleased for Harry when he announced his engagement.

Hermione tried to stay connected to Ron through his family and Harry, but Harry knew that it was not enough for her.

About two and a half years after Ron's death, Hermione began to act strangely. Harry grew increasingly suspicious when he found Hermione disappearing regularly on Saturday mornings. He told Ginny about Hermione's odd behaviour, and she told him to stop being so meddlesome. But even with a strong -"It's her business, Harry. Stay out of it!"- from his wife, Harry vowed to find out just what Hermione was up to.

---

One weekend, against his better judgment, he followed her. Tracing her apparition spell, Harry concentrated, did a little turn, flicked his wand, and POP!

He appeared in what looked like an abandoned field. Wondering what was going on, he saw a large crowd gathering near a gate. As he got to the front of the crowd, Harry vaguely heard something about tickets, and shoved some money into a balding man's open hand. He was pushed forward, and felt himself step over a clearly magical barrier.

What greeted him was the roar of thousands upon thousands of screaming people. Looking skyward, Harry noticed he was in a gigantic stadium.

Suddenly, his eyes were drawn to vivid sea of lurid orange in the stands. Harry's eyes made out a phrase that was in the crows of people directly to his right, using about a fifty or so bare chests.

"_Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best."_

With a gasp of realization, Harry looked around wildly. Quidditch, his brain registered! He was at a Chudley Cannons Quidditch game to be precise! He began to feel a pang of excitement, and then a familiar sting behind his eyes. The feeling in his chest tightened.

He did a locating spell and was able to find Hermione sitting in the southeast end of the stadium. There was a distinctly smaller crowd in this section, but had a great view of the Chudley hoops. He approached her slowly, and sat down next to her. Harry saw her glance up quickly, before her gaze snapped back to the pitch.

With her eyes firmly on the Chudley Chasers, she pulled a large orange hat out of her bag, and jammed it on her bushy curls. It had a little blue ink stain on the brim, and Harry recognized it at once.

He had given it to Ron in their fourth year.

She took his hand, and scooted closer. Looking at her questioningly, he found her gaze was still on the pitch.

All of a sudden, there was deafening roar as the Chudley keeper made a spectacular save. The stadium erupted in cheers, and Harry stood up with Hermione to clap exuberantly. He looked back at her and saw that she had cracked a rare smile.

And although the noise in the pitch was incredibly loud, Harry couldn't help hear and squeeze her hand affectionately when he heard Hermione say to seemingly nobody, "More than the Cannons...more than the wretched Cannons."

_-----_

**A/N: **Okay… that was a lot longer than I had ever planned, but I am really pleased with it. I know it's kind of weird to write something like this that's kind of bittersweet so close to Ron's birthday, but I couldn't help it!

Questions, comments, suggestions? Review...


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